Forever Together

by Naughty Aphrodite

  The laughing stops, color drains from the drunk’s face. “I’m...I...so sorry,” he says as he looks up at this tower of a man. “I just--”

  “You just what? Thought it was ok to drunkenly smack into a beautiful woman, ruin her dress, and then make fun of her for the mess you made?”

  “Sir, I--”

  “You’re done here. Goodnight.” The mysterious man glances at nearby security who immediately step up to accompany the troublemaker to the exit. The drunk hangs his head and walks away without saying another word.

  “I’m so sorry, Ms.--”

  Samantha is gazing up at this gallant knight, her mouth a little open. Finally, she manages to find her name. “Uh, Ms. Robin. I mean, Samantha. Samantha Robin.”

  The knight steps in closer to her and assesses the stain on her dress. He puts a hand on her hip and says, “Well, Ms. Samantha Robin. I know a trick for just such a situation. Will you come with me?” With his hand at the small of her back, he guides her through the crowd, down a dimly lit corridor, and into a small library. Upon shutting the heavy door, he says, “Right over there, by the brandy.”

  She stands next to a gleaming cart topped with cut crystal decanters of amber liquid.

  “Are you a fan of scotch?”

  Sam nods, making a mental note that she’s always meant to try scotch.

  “Then you should really try this,” he says, pulling the stopper out of the bottle and draining the very last of the liquid from the crystal. “There were only two hundred bottles ever made.”

  Samantha lifts the glass to her nose and takes in a long breath of its earthy, sea spray smell.

  “It’s like making love at the line where the forest meets the beach, isn’t it?” He looks at Samantha intently while she takes a careful sip. “Now,” he continues without waiting for her opinion, “let’s do something about that dress.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s ruined--”

  “Nonsense!” he cuts in. “I have a magic touch. You’ll see.” He winks at her.

  Samantha blushes brightly, and nods in agreement. The scotch is warming her all over, and having this handsome stranger help her with her dress, in a remote room of this giant mansion, is exactly where she wants to be right now. This surprises her.

  “You’re going to have to trust me,” he says as he steps close enough for her breasts to touch his chest.

  Without a thought, she replies, “I do,” again surprising herself.

  And with that, the man reaches around and pulls down the zipper of her dress. Samantha’s skin ignites with a flush. She’s motionless, held by this incredibly sexy man’s blue-green eyes.

  “This will just take a moment,” he says while grabbing a small white towel from the cart, never breaking his hold on her eyes. “Put this inside your dress under the stain,” he says, smiling in a knowing way.

  Samantha usually expects men to take any liberty they can. This one unzipped her dress and went no further. And, Samantha finds herself somehow disappointed. The man goes to quick work with the stain, pouring a little seltzer onto the fabric and firmly dabbing it with a cloth.

  “There,” he says as he steps back and admires his work. “The stain is gone, even if you’re still a little wet,” he says and gives her a little wink.

  “I am?” she asks in a distant voice, unable to take her eyes off of him.

  He lets out a laugh that sounds like a full moon spilling all its silver onto her. “Yeah. It seems just a bit,” and he points his chin at her dress.

  “Oh!” she wakes up from her daze and looks down at her dress. “Wow! This is fantastic! Thank you so much.”

  “No worries. In college, I used to cater parties like this, and you pick up a trick or two.” He flashes her a smile that makes the space between them feel unbearable big. After they linger in that space for a moment, he continues, “You should probably get back to the party. I bet your friend is looking for you.”

  “Oh my goodness! You’re right,” she exclaims as she gathers her things in a fluster. At the door, she turns back around. “Really. Thank you,” she says these words with deep meaning and smiles at the stranger who’d saved her from a jerk and just reminded her that there may be more to life than spreadsheets and marketing plans.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “I’m here for Arabella Clark. I’m Connor Clark. I’m her father. I got a call she’s here.”

  The cop working the front desk scans through a list of names. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t see an Arabella anything here. Are you sure she’s not down at county?”

  “No, she’s not down at county, she’s four!” Connor sighs, the tiredness in his voice obvious. “I was told she was picked up by some officers in the park and that she’d be here waiting for me. Now, where’s my daughter?”

  “Daddy!” A squeaky voice pipes in behind Connor, and he turns around just in time to catch his twirling daughter. “I’m the chief of police, Daddy! Look!” Her tiny hand waves a plastic gold badge in his face.”

  “I see! Well, I’m glad you’re keeping our city safe, lil’ nugget,” he says with a big grin. “Let’s blow this pop stand, whattaya say?”

  “Yeah, blow this pop stand,” she joyfully repeats in the way small children do when using new phrases.

  “Let me just send a quick message to Gertie to let her know I have you.” Finally relieved that his daughter is safe and sound, Connor fishes his iPhone from a back pocket and quickly types:

  The police found Arabella in the park. I just picked her up from the station. She’s obviously not safe in your care, so don’t bother coming in to work tomorrow. Margaret will arrange your severance pay.

  This was the second time the nanny had lost Arabella in the city, and the second time the police had to be involved. Connor decides that from now on, he will be personally in charge of the hiring process for the next nanny. He’s refused to staff it out to a placement service, and though Margaret, his house manager, is great at running the properties--he definitely couldn’t do it without her--she just doesn’t have the nose for nannies. Apparently, if he wants something to be done properly, he will have to do it himself.

  After signing some paperwork at the police station, Connor decides to spend some quality time with his daughter in the nearby park. There, at the fountain, Arabella runs in circles airplaning her stuffed monkey, Mr. Boots, behind her. Connor watches her with fatherly dedication and knows she is the best thing in his life. He’d do anything for her. That’s why he’s trying to expand into Hong Kong and diversify SpaceMark. That’s the only way to ensure the business will continue to grow and thrive well into her future, and then someday it will be hers. Just as he loses himself in plans and daydreams, his phone buzzes for the fifth time in ten minutes. Only one person calls this insistently, and he knows he can’t ignore her any longer, so he answers without looking at the caller ID.

  “Hi, Marla.” He pulls the phone away from his ear a bit to protect his eardrums from the screaming. “Yes, well I’m here now...No, I’m not at the office. I’m with Arabe-.......Marla. Marla...MARLA!”

  Arabella jumps a little at his shout but seems used to it enough that she immediately goes back to playing.

  “Marla, when you’re like this I can’t have a conversation with you. You can’t scream at me just because I didn’t immediately answer your calls.” He gets up from the bench and walks out of earshot from Arabella, still keeping an eye on her. A few minutes later, the call is over and he releases a big sigh while rolling his eyes, and walks back to where his little girl is mixing the fountain water with a stick.

  “Hey, pipsqueak! How about some ice cream?”

  “As the chief of police, I think that’s a great idea, Daddy,” she says as she skips and twirls towards the park exit.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “I see you’re back at your computer,” Cheri says as she walks through the living room on Saturday morning.

  “There are only so many way
s to find a job, you know,” Samantha says as she takes a sip of her coffee without pulling her eyes from the screen.

  “These advertising agencies don’t know what they’re missing. If only they knew they could have an employee that spends so much time at her computer that she is slowly starting to meld together with it!”

  Samantha flips her middle finger at Cheri. “I’ve moved on from advertising.”

  “Already? You’ve hardly just begun. Come on, girl, I know it takes time to find a decent job but don’t give up just yet.”

  “No, I’m not giving up on my dream. Someday I absolutely will run strategy for a top company. I’ve come too far not to. But, you know...I’m not very proud of the fact that you have to cover my own rent, so I’m looking at any and all employment options. I can’t just mooch off my best friend for the rest of my life, no matter how many piles of cash she brings in every month...” Her voice trails off at the end. It has been a couple of months since she graduated in mass media communication with honors. Samantha has always worked hard towards her degree, believing that this edge will ultimately translate into good job offers. How wrong she was! Few months down the road and a couple of unpaid internships, and she still can’t find a decent work. It frustrates her more by every passing week that, no matter how hard she tries, there seem to be always the same story: the HR of whatever company considers her not qualified enough for the post.

  Her little savings are drying up faster than she would appreciate it and this month, it’s been the second time that Cheri had to pay the rent for her. Samantha feels embarrassed by this fact, naturally, she doesn’t want to be a burden for her best friend. That’s why she is now looking for any job-- anything that can bring in much-needed cash. And then, in the spare time, she can always continue to search for her dream job. At least, that’s her plan now.

  Cheri is about to protest once again that she is fine with paying Sam’s rent when an interesting ad catches Samantha’s attention. She reads out aloud:

  Seeking a loving, focused and driven college graduate for the care of my 4-year-old daughter. Must love fun, travel, singing, and building forts for Mr. Boots. Exceptional pay for exceptional dedication. Discretion is key. Contact Margaret (415) 533-5155.

  “It’s not the advertising department at Google or Facebook, but exceptional pay sounds pretty good to me,” Samantha says with excitement.

  “I wonder what you need to be so discreet about,” Cheri says a little cautiously.

  “I don’t know, but I’m willing to find out.”

  ***

  Three days later, Samantha knocks on the door of a mansion in the trendy upmarket part of the city. Cheri told her all the famous CEOs have homes in this neighborhood. Hopefully, working for the rich will mean good money, was Samantha’s immediate reaction. The door opens, and a thin woman in her 50s introduces herself as Margaret, the house manager, and invites Samantha in.

  Samantha turns down a beverage while she waits in an extravagant study. Extravagant isn’t an idea she normally associates with a study, but this room is covered in silk wallpapers and velvets. There are objects encrusted in gems, rare-looking books, and a painting she recognizes as being by Van Gogh hanging opposite the desk. She peers at the canvas and realizes it’s not a print. She feels intimidation well up in her chest. Who has a real Van Gogh in their home? she wonders for only a moment because the door opens. In walks the man who’d saved her at the SpaceMark party. She immediately recognizes him and her cheeks blush bright red.

  The man stops in his tracks, shock on his face, and then a sly smile sneaks in before he finds composure and smiles at her more professionally.

  “Well, hello,” he says in an only partially professional tone.

  Samantha finds her voice after a second and tries to sound unshaken. “He--Hi. Hello, sir,” she stutters and shoots her hand out into the space between them. The ‘sir‘ sounds forced and awkward coming out of her mouth.

  “Connor Clark,” the man says as he takes her palm into his enormous hand.

  “Mr. Clark--”

  “Please, Connor. I’ve unzipped your dress, after all.”

  Samantha’s face and chest grow strawberry red.

  “Please forgive me. That was inappropriate of me. Would you still care to have a seat,” he asks gesturing to an overstuffed sofa near the window. “I’d understand if you’re not comfortable.”

  “No, no. You’re right,” she interrupts. “It’s a little silly to be quite so formal,” she adds as she regains composure and sits down.

  Connor sits down next to her, maintaining just enough distance between them to remain respectful. He clears his throat and begins, “Your resume is impressive. You managed to accomplish a lot at university while maintaining an excellent academic record. I see you were editor of the school newspaper, worked as an intern for Young Advertisers of America, Amnesty International, and you even volunteered for a homeless shelter and your local food bank. So with all this, I have just one question for you.”

  Samantha tenses a little, steadying herself for a challenging question. She’s ready to show off her strong decision-making and creative thinking skills.

  “Ms. Robin,” his eyes smile a little at using this title, “did you have any fun at all while in college?”

  Samantha’s body relaxes, and she laughs, letting her head fall back with the relief. “Well, as you noted, Mr. Clark,” saying his name in an exaggerated way, “I had an excellent academic record. So, no. My fun really consisted of stealing naps and eating ice cream while I studied all the time.”

  “An ice cream fan, eh? What’s your flavor of choice?”

  “Neapolitan. I like having options,” she says with a suggestive eyebrow lift.

  “Ooh, that’ll make Arabella so happy. Right, Arabella. We should move on to the child part of this interview.”

  Connor’s eyes dart down to her breasts for just a second. Samantha is surprised it’s taken this long. She’s close enough to smell him--clean but manly, like flannel and pine trees. His smell turns her on, and she remembers his body standing close, arm wrapping around her, the feeling of his fingers taking her zipper, and the pressure of him tugging it down her back. Her body tightens with reliving how badly she’d wanted him to take her right there, not even knowing his name.

  “How are you with children? I mean, Arabella is a delight in nearly every way. Except maybe if you forget to bring Mr. Boots along on a trip.”

  Samantha laughs. “I love them. I have 9 cousins under the age of 15. I babysat throughout high school to save for college. I was very popular with the moms in my town.”

  Connor’s face inches slightly closer. He’s looking at her with a mix of respect and desire.

  “Well, I can tell you’re a business woman at heart, so let’s get down to the nitty-gritty. We can offer you $2,000 per week to start. Also, a car and cell phone, of course, your own bedroom with bathroom at each of the houses for when you need to stay over with Arabella, and a clothing stipend of $500 per month since there will be many functions to attend, and frankly Arabella is going to ruin half the things you wear.

  “$2,500 a week,” Samantha counters.

  Connor smiles with delight, “$2,200 a week.”

  “$2,300”

  “Done. We’ll see you tomorrow at 8 AM,” and with that Connor extends his hand out to shake on the deal.

  Slowly shaking hands too long, they gaze at each other, both satisfied with what has just happened.

  ***

  Walking home from the train, Samantha is swimming in excitement, pride, and so much wanting. The cool San Francisco air makes her aware that her panties are a little damp from sitting so close to Connor, and she shivers at the thought of him.

  Samantha would have been over the moon for $2,000 weekly. That’s twice her monthly rent. But, she knows a man like Connor expects a little pushback in business, and even if she is just a nanny, this is still business. She is still going t
o lead a major advertising team someday, and she won’t let being a nanny soften her skills.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Connor drops his keys onto the table and finds what looks like a mini art show laid out there. Arabella has been very busy in the month he’s been away on business. Margaret told him that Arabella has been getting along especially well with “Ms. Robin”, as she always calls her, but looking at these art pieces, he can see Samantha isn’t simply doing well in her new job, she is bringing out the best in Arabella, in a way no nanny ever has. The two of them seem to get each other. He imagines their two auburn heads twirling to music and making Neapolitan sundaes.